


running through the 412

by torigates



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/pseuds/torigates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unknown number stands out in the flood of congratulatory and consoling texts Phil gets after the trade.</p><p>'This is Sid Crosby,' it reads.</p><p>‘Welcome to the Pens.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	running through the 412

The unknown number stands out in the flood of congratulatory and consoling texts Phil gets after the trade.

'This is Sid Crosby,' it reads.

‘Welcome to the Pens.’

It takes him a few days to get around to replying. There’s a lot he has to do--pack, say goodbye to everyone. Fuck, he’s gotta talk to his realtor.

“You could sell,” she tells him. “The market is going to slow down next year, so you might not want to hold onto the place.”

People have been saying the market is going to slow down the entire time Phil has been living in Toronto, and yet, they’re still fucking building new condos next to him. “Not yet,” he says, unable to let go of the place.”

So what if the market slows down? He can rent it. He’s a millionaire. The Leafs are still paying part of his salary. They can eat the loss.

Phil didn’t expect to leave Toronto. Maybe that was stupid given his job, but it doesn’t make it any less true. He loves this city, loves the place, the people, the fans.

He bleeds red, white, and blue, but white and blue were always going to be a part of that.

 

_Gonna miss this place_

 

 

‘Thanks,’ he texts back after saving Sid’s number in his contacts. ‘looking forward to it!’

‘Can I give your number to a couple of the guys? They want to welcome you themselves.’

Phil doesn’t ask how Sid got his number in the first place. He assumes Sid can get the phone number of any guy in the league without too much effort.

‘Sure,’ he says.

His phone lights up with texts over the next few days. Malkin, Letang, Fleury. They’re all excited to have him, and Phil is excited too.

He can bleed black and gold just as well, he supposes.

 

 

-

“Do you need a place to stay?” Sid asks him the first time the two of them are together in Pittsburgh.

Phil considers it. His realtor in Toronto hooked him up with a guy. He could easily find somewhere, a place to rent at the very least, if he really wanted it.

“Sure,” he says. “That would be great.”

Sid nods like it’s no big deal.

“My sister is supposed to be coming down for awhile, but after that, sure.”

“Why?” Sid asks him, looking genuinely puzzled. “I’ve got a ton of space. It’s fine.”

Amanda arrives a few days later.

Watching her interact with Sid is a bit of a revelation. Sid is charming, there’s no other word for it. He’s energetic and personable in ways that Phil’s previous interactions with him--both on ice and through the media--didn’t prepare him for.

Sid takes them around the city, showing them some of the sites but also just getting Phil acquainted with the city that is now his home. They’re recognized everywhere they go, and Sid handles it with good grace and humility, laughing and signing things, smiling for pictures. He never acts put out or annoyed by it.

Quite a few people recognize Phil too. They welcome him to the city and tell him how happy they are to have him, how excited they are to watch him play.

“They’re pretty excited,” Phil says, once the latest group has moved on.

Sid laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “Me too, buddy.”

 

 

“Hey,” Sid says. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, barely even looks up from the sandwich he’s eating. “You finally escaped, eh?”

“‘Come to Pittsburgh,’ they said. ‘Escape the Toronto media,’ they said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ they said.” Phil shakes his head, going to the cupboard and grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

“There’s a sandwich on the counter,” Sid says, through a mouthful.

“Thanks.” Phil sees the plate covered with a tea towel, and brings it to the table  
sitting down across from Sid.

Sid smiles at him, completely unrepentant. “Hey, I’m not gonna pass up a chance to go home early. Don’t try to tell me you’d do differently, because you’re full of shit.”

Phil shakes his head. “You’re an asshole, man.”

Sid grins at him through a mouthful of food.

 

 

-

There’s a moment in Dallas, after the last notes of _Star Spangled Banner_ fade that Phil expects to hear the opening bars of _O Canada_.

They don’t come. Of course they don’t, and by the time he shakes himself out of it, the game is getting ready to start.

He’s smiling a few days later. It seems fitting to hear the now familiar anthem at the home opener, and he hums along with the singer who does a passably good job.

October 31st has been circled on his calendar since basically the trade news came in. He’s excited to go back, play at the ACC again, see Boz and the rest of his—former—teammates. The news comes down early that the Leafs won’t be doing anything special to welcome him back, and Phil takes a second to throw back his head and laugh when he hears.

“What’s so funny?” Sid asks him. He is sitting on the couch next to Phil. There’s some history documentary on the television that Phil hasn’t been paying the least bit attention to. Sid has his tablet on his lap and he seems to be replying to emails, but he keeps getting distracted every few minutes by whatever the narrator is saying on screen. He leans forward in his seat, nods to himself decisively. It’s kinda… cute, actually, and Phil had been distracted from his checking his own email, except instead of the TV catching his attention it’s Sid.

Phil shakes his head, clearing it. “Oh it’s nothing.”

Sid cocks his head to the side, but doesn’t push. Phil has noticed that about him, the way he seems to have a perfect read on his teammates always. When to push, when to sit back and wait. He’s incredibly easy to talk to, along with charismatic.

He sighs. “The Leafs aren’t doing anything for my welcome back.”

Sid seems pretty angry. The rest of the team does too, so do Boz, Dion, a bunch of the Leafs, and most of the internet apparently. Phil thinks it’s deeply, deeply fitting. And funny. He laughs a lot about it.

He’s laughing a little less after everyone and their dog has asked him about it, but that’s Phil’s life apparently. He can’t say he’s surprised, not exactly. The bridges between him and Toronto aren’t burned, exactly but there’s a lot of love lost.

In Toronto, he sings along with _O Canada_ anyway, and doesn’t let the boos get to him. Not really.

 

 

-

Sid spends a lot of time apologizing for things that don’t really need apologies.

“Hey, don’t put the celery in with the onions?” He says, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t like the way it makes them taste. Sorry.”

Phil shrugs. “My bad.”

“No big deal,” Sid tells him, but Phil watches with amusement as he rearranges half the groceries Phil had just finished putting away.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly when he catches Phil watching. “I just… like it that way.”

Phil holds up his hands. “Hey man,” he says. “It’s your place.”

Sid apologizes when he asks Phil not to eat his peanut butter, when he asks him not to mix his clothes with Sid’s laundry, when he asks him to put his DVDs back in the same order, and when he asks Phil not to watch shows logged into Sid’s profile on the Netflix account.

“I just--”

“Like it that way,” Phil finishes at the same time. “It’s no big deal, seriously.” He pauses. “Your house, your rules.”

He means it kindly, but Sid doesn’t take it that way, apparently. He pulls a face. “You live here too.”

Phil shrugs. “Living with someone is about compromise and shit. At least you don’t leave literally every cupboard in the house open like Bozie did.”

Sid laughs at that.

“No, but seriously,” Phil says, trying to convey sincerity and feeling deeply uncomfortable. “It’s no big deal. If it were, I could move out. I like living with you.”

Sid looks briefly stunned at that. Sid’s always been infamous with regards to his peculiarities, the guys all know not to mess with Sid’s game day routines. Phil has never been particularly superstitious himself. He has his own habits. Any hockey player who says otherwise is a liar, but he’s not held to them like some are. Sid’s the worst guy out of anyone he’s ever met, probably the worst in the league. No one ever messes with him--well, except Geno. But Malkin’s his own beast in every sense of the word.

Phil knew that about Sid coming in, and it’s not like he’s gonna hold it over Sid’s head now that he has to, what? Put his celery in a slightly different spot. Nah.

Sid coughs and looks away, a faint hint of a smile playing around his lips. “I like living with you too,” he says.

Phil nods and grins. “Great,” he says. “So quit being so Canadian about it, eh?”

Sid laughs outright at that. “You spent how long in Toronto and they didn’t teach you any manners? Jeez.”

Phil punches him on the shoulder, Sid jostles him back, and the conversation gets lost in the ensuing scuffle.

 

 

-

Duper retires, Johnston gets fired, and Phil can’t score a fucking goal.

The three things aren’t connected, not really, and they don’t happen in close proximity, but they’re tied up together in Phil’s mind.

Phil hasn’t been around long enough to really get to know Dupuis--not like some of the other guys--but that doesn’t matter. Phil can see how important he is to the team, how much he’s loved by the fans. Phil can’t imagine it, in a lot of ways, what that would be like.

Things weren’t exactly great when he left Boston, Toronto, and that’s putting it mildly. What would it be like to go out loved like that?

The team’s not on top, not by a long shot. It’s always hard when the coach gets canned, no matter his personal feelings. If Phil could feel bad for Carlyle then he can muster up some sympathy for Johnston. At least this time no one’s talking about coach killers, not in regards to him.

But Phil can’t lie, it’s nice not to be the one speaking to the media every day, answering for the team’s failure to produce, to win a game. Sid and Geno both do a better job of it than Phil ever could, and sure Pittsburgh isn’t Toronto, but just barely.

Things seem to click better under Sullivan, and the atmosphere in the room goes from grimly determined to cautiously optimistic. There’s a feeling that they _can_ do it, and that they will.

It’s different.

Nice.

“Bummed about the All-Star game?” Phil asks Sid, between sets at the gym.

Sid stares at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. “No,” he says between chuckles. “Nope. Can’t say that I am.”

Phil laughs. “So you’re not taking it as a sign of your impending demise?”

Sid gives him a look. “Are you?”

He lies back down on the bench and Phil focuses on spotting him through his press.

“To be honest, I’m kinda glad,” he says once he’s done his set, wiping his face with a towel. “Saves me making up an injury this year.” There’s a twist of his mouth, Phil can’t quite interpret whether or not he’s joking. He is pretty sure Sid’s joking. Like, almost positive.

“What about you, no more superstar status? On the decline?”

Phil snorts. “Seems like it lately.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that shit, man. It’s not attractive.”

“Fine,” Phil says. Sid’s right, he knows, but the expectation on him coming in was that he would score a lot of goals, help the team win, and he hasn’t.

“Hey.” Sid’s hand on his shoulder is heavy and warm. “I’m serious. Cut that shit out, all right?”

Phil swallows. “Yeah,” he says with a nod. “Yeah. All right.”

“Do you want me to give you the captain speech? Because I can give you the captain speech.”

Phil does not want that. “No,” he says. “I’m good, I swear.”

“That’s right,” Sid says decisively. “You _are_ good. And you’re doing a good job here.”

Phil ducks his head. “Okay, okay,” he says. He’s glad his flush can be attributed to his workout. “You said you weren’t going to give the speech.”

Sid maintains eye contact for a moment longer, and it’s--intense. His eyes are a bright hazel, and he has the same determined look Phil’s accustomed to seeing in the faceoff circle. Like someone convincing Phil he’s just as good as he can be is as important as winning. It’s a lot.

Sid is a lot.

Phil coughs and looks down, breaking eye contact, and Sid finally moves his hand away from Phil’s shoulder. Phil takes his spot on the bench and Sid spots him.

“You going anywhere?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, breathing through the weight, and privately remaking how much of an asshole his captain secretly is. “Florida with my sister,” he continues when Sid makes an inquiring noise.

“That’ll be fun,” Sid says. “Fishing?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, and then pushes through his last few reps before Sid can ask him any more questions. “God, fuck you,” he pants when he’s done. “Fucking asshole.”

Sid just cackles.

“What about you?” Phil asks in the car once they’ve showered and changed. “Going away for the break?”

“Going down to Austin, I might try to see Taylor too. We’ll see,” Sid says.

Phil nods. They finish their weights, and get sandwiches for lunch on the way home.

 

 

-

Florida is nice. Phil sits by the ocean and doesn’t regret missing the All-Star game.

When he gets back to Pittsburgh it’s cold and grey but there’s a buzz of excitement in the air, all the guys refreshed and raring to go. The playoffs don’t seem impossible now, in fact everyone is acting like they’re an expectation rather than a long shot pipe dream. Phil had forgotten what that felt like.

It’s _fun_.

Things ramp up through February and into March. Phil is scoring goals again, and Sid’s tearing it up, doing a good job of making a push for the Hart trophy.

“I don’t think about that,” Phil overhears Sid saying in a postgame after another multi-point night. “I’m just taking it one game at a time, focusing on winning for the team.”

Phil bites his lip to hide a smile and turns his attention towards answering his own questions.

Later that night, Phil nudges Sid’s thigh with his toes. The two of them on the coach, Phil spread out over two-thirds of it while Sid leans against one of the armrests. Sid is rotating his wrist slowly, ten counts one way, then ten the other.

“Hey,” he says, poking him again. “You’re really not thinking about the Hart? Not at all?”

Sid shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “Hasn’t crossed my mind.”

His face is perfectly neutral, it takes a moment for Phil to get it. “You’re a fucking liar,” he says, and digs his heel into the meaty part of Sid’s thigh as hard as he can.

“You’re an asshole,” Sid says, twisting his body away. “What about you, eh? Rocket Richard?”

“Not this year,” Phil says. He settles back down into the cushions. “Maybe if Ovi has a bad season.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

PHil goes quiet at that. It takes him a moment to realise his feet are still basically in Sid’s lap, and once he does he can’t bring himself to move. He watches Sid do his wrist exercises, completely oblivious to whatever is on TV. Sid’s jaw flexes and he yawns once, runs his hands through his hair. Phil gets distracted watching a stray strand fall across Sid’s forehead.

He startles when Sid’s hands come to rest on the bare skin between his sock and the bottom of his sweatpants. Sid squeezes his ankles once, in apology and Phil lets himself relax into the touch. Sid’s thumbs dig into the tendons above his heel, and Phil lets out a low gasp despite himself.

“Sorry,” Sid says. He goes to move his hands away, but Phil digs his heels in again.

“No, uh,” he says. “Feels god.”

Sid grins, and something hot uncurls low in Phil’s belly. Slowly he places his hands back, a tight grip around Phil’s ankles. It feels calming. Centring.

They stay like that until the end of the show, although Phil doesn’t take in another bit of it, completely distracted by the play of Sid’s fingers around his ankle, the way they would occasionally slip under the cuff of Phil’s hands and press against his calf muscles.

It’s distracting and overwhelming and more than Phil would have ever thought to hope for since coming here.

Sid has been nothing short of amazing, welcoming Phil to the city, the team, into his home.

Sid leans forward, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and switching off the television. The two of them move seamlessly together, picking up discarded dishes, tidying up a bit. Phil can’t help but notice how easy it is between them, how it’s always been since he moved in.

Sid looks soft and warm in his own t-shirt and sweats, and Phil just wants.

They move towards the stairs to head up to their respective rooms. Sid puts a hand on Phil’s waist.

“Hey,” he says.

Phil stops, turning his body towards Sid, his back to the wall.

“Just--” Sid says. “Tell me if I got this wrong.”

Phil doesn’t have a chance to ask before Sid is stepping into Phil’s space. His back hits the wall with a thud, and Sid’s hands circle briefly around his wrists before sliding up Phil’s arms, over his shoulders. One hand cups the back of Phil’s neck, his fingers tangling in the short hairs at his nape. Their chests are pressed together, hips slotted against each other.

Phil sucks in a sharp breath.

“Did I get it wrong?” Sid asks.

Phil licks his lips, watches Sid’s eyes, always so laser focused, track the movement. The corners of Phil’s mouth quirk up. “No,” he says. “You’re reading it right.”

Sid smiles again, slow and sure. His other hand comes to rest at Phil’s hip and he squeezes once before pulling Phil in and slotting their mouths together.

Sid kisses like he does everything else: with intensity and the intent to win. Phil wraps an arm around Sid’s waist, pulling him closer. He can’t resist the temptation, hands sliding down to grab Sid’s ass.

Sid groans into his mouth, trailing kisses down over his jaw and sucking on his pulse point.

“God, fuck,” Phil pants, letting his head fall back with a thunk against the wall.

Sid lifts his head to grin at Phil, mouth red and wet and filthy. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he says.

Phil thinks back, Sid offering him a place to stay, showing him around and making sure he felt welcome, comfortable. Sure maybe it started out as teammate stuff, being a good captain, but it hasn’t been just that in a long while. He thinks about the way he watches Sid when it’s just the two of them, the way Sid’s entire presence is overwhelming and distracting. The way he thinks about Sid when they’re not together.

“I might have some,” he says, dragging Sid in for another kiss.


End file.
